Treasure Island

Percy Bysshe Shelley

(1792-1822 / Horsham / England)

To ----


ONE word is too often profaned
   For me to profane it;
One feeling too falsely disdain'd
   For thee to disdain it;
One hope is too like despair
   For prudence to smother;
And pity from thee more dear
   Than that from another.

I can give not what men call love:
   But wilt thou accept not
The worship the heart lifts above
   And the heavens reject not,
The desire of the moth for the star,
   Of the night for the morrow,
The devotion to something afar
   From the sphere of our sorrow?

Submitted: Saturday, January 04, 2003

Do you like this poem?
0 person liked.
0 person did not like.

Read poems about / on: despair, sorrow, star, hope, night, heart

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Comments about this poem (To ---- by Percy Bysshe Shelley )

Enter the verification code :

  • Ritu Dhingra (4/15/2010 2:28:00 PM)

    this is a masterpiece... among all poems this is my fav poem... each word express its feeling (Report) Reply

Read all 1 comments »

Top Poems

  1. Phenomenal Woman
    Maya Angelou
  2. The Road Not Taken
    Robert Frost
  3. If You Forget Me
    Pablo Neruda
  4. Still I Rise
    Maya Angelou
  5. Dreams
    Langston Hughes
  6. Annabel Lee
    Edgar Allan Poe
  7. If
    Rudyard Kipling
  8. Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
    Robert Frost
  9. I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
    Maya Angelou
  10. Invictus
    William Ernest Henley

New Poems

  1. War and Hunger, Zillur Rahman Shuvro
  2. For All Seasons, LAURA EGGEBRECHT
  3. We, Karen Swenson
  4. Song of a Coca-Cola boy, Zillur Rahman Shuvro
  5. Father of a Diabetic Child, Zillur Rahman Shuvro
  6. Market Women: Lake Toba, Karen Swenson
  7. What Does A Woman Want, Karen Swenson
  8. Time is, Nassy Fesharaki
  9. Being lonely, Nitin Mukesh
  10. Kalighat In Calcutta, Karen Swenson

Poem of the Day

poet George Gordon Byron

So we'll go no more a-roving
So late into the night,
Though the heart still be as loving,
And the moon still be as bright.

For the sword outwears its sheath,
...... Read complete »

 

Modern Poem

 

Member Poem

[Hata Bildir]